Married the Monster Duke

Chapter 8

Beatrice bit her lower lip, feeling a sudden shyness. She looked down at her cup, tracing the rim with her finger while trying to gather her thoughts. The warmth of the tea had already begun to fade, yet she found herself clinging to the quiet moment like it was something precious. Arthur glanced at her, his gaze gentle but observant, noting every little movement she made. He wasn’t in a rush. He simply watched, content, perhaps, to let the silence settle between them like a soft blanket.

Beatrice finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s strange… how kind everyone has been to me.” Arthur set his cup down, his expression unreadable. “Why is that strange?” Beatrice hesitated. “Because… I don’t deserve it.” Arthur’s brows furrowed ever so slightly. “And who told you that?” Her fingers stopped moving. “Everyone. My family.”

The words were spoken so simply, so plainly, as if she were stating something obvious, like the sky being blue, or the snow falling in winter. And yet, it felt like a slap. Arthur’s expression didn’t change much, but something cold passed through his eyes for a brief second. He didn’t ask for more. He didn’t need to. Her tone had already told him everything.

“I see,” he finally murmured. “Well, they were wrong.” Beatrice blinked, her eyes wide as she looked up at him.

“You do deserve kindness, Beatrice,” Arthur continued, his voice warm but firm. “And respect. And happiness.”

Beatrice’s heart skipped. It was the first time someone had told her that, truly told her, without expectation, without cruelty, without a hidden agenda.

She gave a weak smile, unsure of how to reply. Instead, she turned back toward the garden. The wind gently stirred the flowers, and the trees rustled softly. The quiet moment stretched, but it was no longer awkward. It was peaceful.

Arthur stood slowly. “Would you like to walk a little?”

Beatrice glanced at him, surprised, then nodded.

They walked side by side through the winding path between the flower beds. Neither of them spoke at first, but it wasn’t silence filled with distance, rather, it was one of shared breath and slow steps, the kind of silence that lets thoughts settle like snow on a winter's morning. Arthur occasionally glanced sideways at her. The sunlight hit her face just right, bringing out the soft glow in her skin and the delicate movements of her eyes as she looked around.

“She’s like a rabbit,” Arthur thought, timid, but curious. Hesitant, but brave enough to stay beside a wolf.

Beatrice eventually stopped in front of a white rose bush and stared for a moment. “Are these… winter roses?”

Arthur nodded. “They bloom longer than the others. Hardy flowers. Fragile-looking, but they endure.”

“I like them,” she said softly.

Arthur didn’t miss the hint of a smile playing on her lips. He quietly took a mental note. The sun had shifted slightly when they returned to the table. The tea had gone cold, but neither of them seemed to mind. Beatrice looked more relaxed now, as if something in her had loosened. That evening, back in her room, Katy combed Beatrice’s hair as they prepared for bed.

“My lady… you seemed different today,” Katy said carefully.

Beatrice didn’t answer at first. Then, with a small voice, she murmured, “I think… I want to try.”

Katy tilted her head. “Try what?”

“To be happy.”

Katy’s hands stilled for a moment, then continued their gentle motion through Beatrice’s long, soft hair. “Then I’ll help you, my lady. Every step of the way,” Beatrice smiled, eyes soft as they reflected the candlelight. “Thank you, Katy.”

—

The next day was livelier than usual in the mansion.

It was subtle at first. A soft “good morning” to the maids. A polite comment about the flowers to the gardener. Even a smile, a real one, to Charles, the butler, who nearly dropped his clipboard from the shock. The servants, who had grown used to a quiet and withdrawn duchess, began to whisper among themselves, not with malice, but with genuine surprise and happiness.

“The duchess spoke to me today.”

“She smiled at me.”

“She asked how my daughter was.”

Beatrice noticed the whispers, of course. But what surprised her more than their words was the way they looked at her, not with fear, not with judgment, but with admiration. And that confused her. Why would they admire her? She was nothing, just a girl discarded by her own family. She was never the pretty one, nor the smart one. She was never anything special.

Yet… they looked at her like she was someone worth looking at. Katy noticed the confusion in Beatrice’s face one evening and decided to speak up.

“My lady… they admire you because you treat them like people. Most nobles don’t even acknowledge the help, but you look them in the eye. You thank them. You care.”

Beatrice looked down at her hands. “But… I’m just… me.”

“And that’s enough,” Katy replied gently.

—

A few more days passed.

Arthur found himself looking forward to their afternoon tea. The change in Beatrice was something even he hadn’t expected. There was a lightness to her now, still faint, still flickering, but it was there. Like a small flame refusing to be snuffed out.

“She laughs now,” he thought as he watched her chuckle at something Charles said.

“She still gets shy,” he noted, amused, when she avoided his eyes after he complimented her dress.

But most importantly, “She’s trying.” And that made him want to try, too.

—

On the seventh day since her arrival, the sun was high and bright, the garden filled with color, and the air unusually warm for the season. Beatrice waited at the tea table earlier than usual. When Arthur arrived, she stood and greeted him with a small curtsy.

He blinked, surprised. “You’re early.” Beatrice looked down, then up again. “I didn’t want to miss tea time.” Arthur smiled, his heart lighter than it had been in years. “Neither did I.”

And just like that, they sat, side by side, not as strangers, not as a Grand Duke and his duty-bound wife, but as two people who, for the first time in their lives, began to find something worth holding onto.